“Well, thank you; and as busy as you in my way. I’m going to write a book about the Dartmoor stones.”
“’S truth! Be you? Who’ll read it?”
“Don’t know yet. And, after all, I have found out little that sharper eyes haven’t discovered already. Still, it fills my time. And it is that I’m here about.”
“You can go down awver my land to the hut-circles an’ welcome whenever you mind to.”
“Sure of it, and thank you; but it’s another thing just now—your brother-in-law to be. I think perhaps, if he has leisure, he might be useful to me. A very clever fellow, Hicks.”
But Will was in no humour to hear Clement praised just then, or suggest schemes for his advancement.
“He’m a weak sapling of a man, if you ax me. Allus grumblin’, an’ soft wi’ it—as I knaw—none better,” said Blanchard, watching Bonus struggle with the rabbit netting.
“He’s out of his element, I think—a student—a bookish man, like myself.”
“As like you as chalk’s like cheese—no more. His temper, tu! A bull in spring’s a fule to him. I’m weary of him an’ his cleverness.”
“You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris—”